EightyNine
by Saiyavenger
Summary: Only kept up for posterity. Ignore this, please.
1. Foreward and Disclaimer

Before the story kicks off, I'd like to explain what will be going on here. As the majority of you who are reading this know, this will be a fanfic based up on the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series, told through the eyes of a hotshot rookie ("Me"). However, this is gonna be far different from your usual fic.

Unlike most fics, where everything is already set in stone from the very beginning, this one is going to be a "dynamic fic", created with the help of the PC game, NASCAR Racing 2003 Season. The system is simple: I run the races with the game, and when a key event happens, I mark it down on a notepad. Then, after the race has been run, I take the events that happened, and create a story around them. This makes it not only exciting for you, the reader, but also for me. You won't be able to tell what's coming next, because I won't even be able to until it happens.

The POV of this story will change quite a few times during the story. From first-person through "my" eyes, to a third-person perspective, told by the race broadcasters. This is something I've been wanting to try for a good while, and I hope it comes across well.

The main characters in the story are based upon me and a couple of my friends. The characters are:

Brett Hatfield - #89 Autobacs Dodge Charger, for Autobacs Racing Team Aguri (ARTA PROJECT) – This is obviously me. His personality is gonna be similar to mine, except cranked up to eleven. Cocky. Brash. Deadly serious when the situation calls for it. The fans already don't care much for him, mainly because his team is based in Japan instead of America, and his hatred of the redneck lifestyle. Not like he minds playing the villain, though.

Christopher Crosby – My best friend in real life, and Hatfield's crew chief in this story. While he'll admit he's not a master of the racing lexicon, he knows how to make the 89 go fast, and he's also a master strategist. Hatfield calls him "his personal evil genius".

Kevin Weiker - #32 Goodguys Ford Fusion, for Yates Racing – You folks probably know this guy as NASCARStones on Deviantart. This time, he's piloting the fourth Yates car, and living a dream. On the surface, he's probably the most relaxed of your three main characters, since he's the "elder", per se. On the inside, though, he's quite paranoid of losing his ride. Not because of his performance, but because of the business practices at his team. It's because of this, that he has a legit hatred for teammate Paul Menard.

Jack Stroski - #98 Thorn Apple Valley Ford Fusion, for Yarborough Motorsports – DarkBlueYoshi on DA. He's the Knuckles to Hatfield's Sonic; A connection that will be played with by their shared Sega sponsorship. The youngest of your three main characters. Fans are generally calling him the next Gordon, either as a compliment to his skill, or as an insult to his personality.

Now, for entertainment's sake, I will be taking a few creative liberties. Firstly, the schedule will be changed a bit, with Pocono being replaced by Laguna Seca and Nashville, and five more races added to the end of the season. Secondly, the points system will be the same as the British Touring Car Championship, instead of the current NASCAR system. The points will be as follows.

Points are awarded to the top ten drivers in each race.

1st = 15 pts

2nd = 12 pts

3rd = 10 pts

4th = 8 pts

5th = 6 pts

6th = 5 pts

7th = 4 pts

8th = 3 pts

9th = 2 pts

10th = 1 pt

An extra point is awarded to the driver who sets the fastest lap of each race.

A bonus point is awarded to each driver who is classified as leading a lap, though no driver may collect more than one point per race no matter how many laps they lead.

A bonus point is also given to the driver who lines up on pole position after the qualifying session.

This will make for a more exciting season, I believe.

Anyways, at this point, I'd like to state that I am NOT a part of NASCAR in any shape or form, aside from being a fan. (Seriously. If I were, do you think I'd be sitting here doing this?) Any and all trademarks mentioned here in the story, or on the official website for the story, are copyright to their respective owners, and no infringement is intended.

And with that said, get ready for one helluva ride…

PS: Don't forget to check out the official site for the story, located at freewebs.com/eighty-nine/. There, you can check the season standings, see "photos" from the races, get some background info on the 89 car, and even download your own copy of the car for your NR2003 game.

Enjoy!

B. Hatfield (Avenger)


	2. Prologue: First Movement of the Odyssey

"Here we were, simply humans going out to test ourselves at speeds our ancestors could not have dreamed of. An evolution of those noble chariot races from yore... And just like then, we competed not for money, not for the crowd... But for glory."

A quote quite fitting for a place as hallowed as Daytona International Raceway, wouldn't you say? Only the very best have won here. Well, the very best, and a couple complete flukes. But I digress. You hear about the emotions and sensations the drivers get whenever they step through these gates, but not even their descriptions do the feelings justice. It's something that has to be experienced.

The first time I walked through these gates, I was just a fan. A fan with some driving skill, admittedly, but a still just a fan. For years, I watched racing religiously. I bought the collectables, played the video games, went to the events. Ever since I was little, I dreamed of becoming a racer.

And it was a dream I was going to achieve, no matter what.

During the first half of last year, right after I turned 19, I entered into a driving competition sponsored by the Autobacs Seven Corporation. With each of us driving custom made ASL Gariyas, I dominated the competition up until the final race. That final race was when I took my first steps into this hallowed ground. They upgraded us all to souped-up sports cars, and had us go at it in a 10 lap shootout for the title. As the point leader at the time, I got the best car, an Autobacs Orange Dodge Viper, but had to start at the back of the pack.

But that didn't stop me.

As soon as the flag dropped, I started blazing through the field, grinning like an idiot. If someone was dumb enough to get in my way, they paid for it. 10 laps later, I took the checkered flag, and was offered a contract to drive the new ARTA entry for the NASCAR Sprint Cup Series. How could I refuse?

So, again, here I am, standing in the garage area of "The World Center of Racing", looking over this car. My car. The #89 Autobacs Charger. Suddenly I'm not just a fan anymore... I'm a member of the 2009 Sprint Cup rookie class.

"Still hanging out in your emo corner?"

I look over to my right to see another fellow rookie, Kevin Weiker, grinning. I grin back, and flip him off in response. Kevin, in a way, "lucked out" to get his ride with Yates. After they released David Gilliland, they were looking for someone to fill the second seat at Yates. His friendship with Travis Kvapil landed him a tryout, and Doug Yates was impressed enough to give him the shot. Of course, dude's still paranoid of losing the seat, but who can blame him these days…? He doesn't let it show, though, and he's definitely got the skill to make some big things happen in this series.

"Just thinkin' about how good it'll feel to hoist that trophy in a couple weeks." I reply, a twinge of sarcasm in my voice. This, however, brings the other rookie in our little group out of the woodwork.

"Psh. Please. Like either of you have a chance of beating me!"

That would be the voice of Jack Stroski. The "Knuckles to my Sonic", if you will. He talks a big game, but he can definitely back it up. Just look at the kid's records up to this point in regional series. The fact that a legend like Yarborough had the confidence in this guy to drive for his new team is proof of his potential.

"Sorry, Jackie-boy. They don't let children play with the grown-ups." I say, despite being only a year older than him. To think, the oldest person in our group is only 22… Those who say there isn't a youth movement in racing can STFU. We continue to joke around about winning the 500, despite everybody already writing us off because of our rookie status, and in Jack and I's cases, being with new teams.

But that's why races aren't run on paper.

We finally split up, and I head back to my hauler to meet up with my crew chief, and best friend, Chris Crosby, or "Sporky", as I call him.

"How are the preparations coming along?" I ask, hoping everything is going according to plan,

"Well, the plasma cannon is still gonna be awhile, but the flux capacitor is all set!" He replies matter-of-factly, making me wonder if he's just joking around or if he's really done this. Impossible, you say? Ha! You haven't met Sporky. This guy is a true genius, part of the reason I have him as my team leader. When it comes to strategy, in anything, he's unbeatable.

"Heh, I doubt this thing is gonna pass inspection, then…" I reply with a laugh as I look over my chariot. I still can't believe this thing is mine. And when I say "mine", I mean it. The folks at ARTA let me design it and choose my sponsors after my performance in their "Gong Show". Sleek orange with white flames at the back, and my personal number, 89. And on the back, my personal hero, Son Gohan from Dragonball.

"Feeling nervous?" I ask Chris, who can only grin and say "Nah. I'm not the one that has to do all the work." Lovely. My sarcastic side has rubbed off on him. "You?"

"Of course. This is Daytona. Two weeks from now, it'll be the biggest day of my career." I reply, arms crossed and eyes staring into space. He brushes it off like it's nothing, though. He never really followed racing, so the pageantry of the 500 really doesn't matter to him. He just enjoys the sciency stuff, and hanging around me.

"Testing will start in five minutes." the PA announcer says.

This, of course, is my cue to start getting ready to head out on the track. Due to the new rules NASCAR has in place, this is gonna be our only testing session of the year before the Bud Shootout next weekend. Naturally, everybody is here, with almost 50 drivers trying to get some track time. As the crew pushes the car out onto pit row, I try to do a little stretching before I hop in. Anything to keep myself focused and active will help, with my nerves like this.

"Say, you think Optimus Prime will be mad at us if we wreck?"

That question freezes me in my tracks.

"Sporky. It's AutoBACS. Not BOTS!" I reply through gritted teeth, since this is the umpteenth time I've had to explain it. Of course, given our dorkiness, he's probably just messing with me.

"I know, I know. Just trying to settle ya down a little." He says cheerfully. And thus, the second part of why I chose him. When it comes to moral support, he's always there to give me a boost when I need it.

We finally make it to the pit box, and I slide into the car. My first time in the finished product. They've already got my custom helmet hanging there, as well as a nice, cold Vitaminwater, with a long bendy-straw so I can drink it through my helmet, beside my seat. The cockpit is a tight fit for someone my size, but I'll get used to it. I'm finally all strapped in when Sporky comes to fix my window net.

"All set?" He asks, as I nod in reply. "Alrighty, go get em 'Venger!"

I grin at him through my helmet and key my radio. "Time to go make a lot of left turns."

I flip the switches, and my Dodge roars to life. I haven't even left my pit yet, but I'm already experiencing a rush unlike any other. Chris tells me I'm clear, and I finally roll out at the sickeningly slow speed of 55 miles per hour. I hit the yellow pit exit line, and I mash the pedal down as hard as I can.

"I can't believe I'm doing this..." I tell Chris over the radio.

"Just don't get too star struck. This is still a job."

"Aw, come on man! You're killin' my fun!"

Already, I can tell this year's gonna be a good one. By this point, I've finally caught up the 18 of Kyle Busch. I thought I was going fast before, but wow! The speed in this slipstream is incredible! The 42 pulls up behind me, and I somehow go even faster. Note to self: Hope to god you never develop motion sickness.

"THIS IS AMAZING!" I yell into my radio, probably deafening Sporky and anybody else who was unfortunate enough to be listening in. I finally settle down a little, and begin to adjust to the heat inside the car, as well as the deafening sound of the wind and engines. I come out of turn four and see the flag stand.

"Here we go..."

My first lap as a Sprint Cup driver unofficially begins now. I follow the 18 as closely as I can without touching him, making sure I don't lose that sweet, sweet slipstream of his as we barrel into the first corners. Me, Kyle, and Montoya come out of turn two in a perfectly straight line. Feeling somewhat confident, I decide to attempt a bump draft with the 18.

Bad move.

It appears I bumped him a little too hard. Kyle wiggles a bit, almost scraping the wall. I fly past him, and I coulda swore I saw his middle finger out his window. I just hope to god that move doesn't come back to haunt me.

But about five laps later, it does. Going into turn one, I feel a rather unpleasent bump. One more of those and around I go.

"What the hell!?" I scream right as I get tagged by another car, and spin into the grass.

"Dude! You ok?" Chris says, somewhat worriedly.

"I'm fine... Just a little confused... What happened?"

"Looked like the 18 got ya. By the way this camera angle looks, it appears you got tagged by the 42 as well."

Lovely.

"How bad does it look?"

"Not too bad. We can fix it up in about fifteen minutes. Can you get it back around here in one piece?"

I scoff at that last remark, and start the car up again. Once I make it back to the pits, I pull into our garage stall, where my team goes to work on the passenger side. I finally start to relax a little, and I feel the effects of being hit earlier as I reach for my bottle. I'm definitely gonna be sore in the morning. I see Kevin walk over, probably to rib me for that lovely little ride I just took.

"Got your bearings back yet?" He asks as he leans into the door.

"Heh, I think so. I can finally see colors again." I reply, jokingly. "How's your car right now?"

"Not bad. A little tight in three", he replies matter-of-factly. "Then again, that's because Menard probably got the good equipment…"

Ah, yes. The reason he's so paranoid nowadays. See, when he was hired, Yates was still only a two car operation. Then they brought in Paul Menard and Bobby Labonte, and gave Kevin and Travis' points to them. Needless to say, he wasn't pleased.

So now, he has to get in the show on speed, instead of being locked in. Totally uncool, wouldn't you say?

"Eh, don't worry about it", I say, trying to reassure him. "Who needs points when you have mad skills?" This manages to bring a slight smile out of him before he slaps the roof of my car and walks back to his own stall.

"Repairs are all finished! Get on back out there, bro!"

Taking Sporky's cue, I flip my visor back down, and pull out of our garage stall, ready to show what I'm truly capable of.

Luckily for me, I merge right behind a pack of cars, enabling me to get to full speed a lot sooner. I'm able to charge right up to the back of the 78 and give him a more "proper" bumpdraft. He heads to the low line, though, hanging me out to dry. I'm able to pull back up to the 18, though, and I get a nice push from what appears to be the 02. After my second lap back on the track, I get a transmission from Sporky.

"Dude!"

"What?"

"You just set the fastest time of the day!"

Whoa. I know I expected us to be fast, but fastest time of the day already? Shocking. Seems like they'll know my name a lot quicker than expected… Maybe it'll shut up some of those critics who say I don't have a chance in hell too.

As my lap count continues to grow, so does my pack. My spotter is telling me we have about 10 to 15 cars in this group. My nerves are racing as fast as my car now, since I know all too well what can happen when these large, tight packs come together at almost 200 miles per hour.

I'm ahead of all these others for the moment, but I can feel my tires going away. As I enter turn one, I slide up the track.

"Three wide, you're on the outside", my spotter tells me.

Lovely.

As I glance over to my left as much as I can, I can tell that I'm getting freight-trained on the outside. A few have already slid over in front of me. The panic light in my mind is flashing faster and faster until I get this piece of news from the spotter.

"98 and 32 behind ya. Gonna help ya out."

Phew. Thought I had a little reason to be worried, but all is fine.

Or so I thought.

It appears I relaxed a little too much, as I accidentally bump the 37 car. He swerves into the outside retaining wall, and begins to spin in front of me. I try to avoid him, but no luck, as he spins into my side, and sends me around. I start getting hit from all angles, including a stiff shot to my driver side door from the 99 car. After that, I stop the car on the apron.

"Dude! You ok!? Say something!"

"Yeah, I'm cool. No need to be so dramatic, Sporky." I say, knowing I'm gonna need a lot of aspirin later tonight from that last shot.

I finally get the car rolling and my bearings straight, when all of a sudden, I feel another hit on my passenger side.

"Looks like someone isn't very happy with ya."

Another hit, and my spotter tells me it's the 37, Cale Gale.

"What's his problem?"

"He apparently didn't like that little lapse of judgment you had back there."

Again, he slams into the side of my car, harder than before.

"That's it. Time for this asshole to find out why they call me 'Avenger'"!

I drop back behind him, then swing to the other side, and spin him up into the 36 car. After that, I drop back down to the apron and finally attempt to bring this busted up machine back to the pits.

But Mr. Gale has other plans.

He somehow catches me on pit row, and tries to spin me out. I slow down a little, to let him pass me, then slam him into the infield grass. I see the 37's pitsign ahead, so I decide to pay a little visit to the crew over there…

A few hours later, I'm finally back in my motorcoach, trying to heal up. Seems that last wreck did more damage to me than originally thought. My head is splitting, and I swear, I think I've broken a rib or three. I hear knocking at the door. Lovely. The press is back again. After finishing on top of the speed charts and the incident with Cale, it seems I've become the flavor of the week.

"No more interviews!" I yell, which causes my chest to become engulfed with pain.

"Dude, it's us!"

Heh, a "cheering-up" community, as it were. Sporky rounded up Kevin and Jack.

"Ah, ok. Door's open, guys." I reply, not moving from my futon as they file in.

"Doin' ok?" Jack asks as he walks over.

"Do you want the honest answer? Or do you want me to keep my reputation intact?" I say with a soft chuckle. From there, the four of us spend the rest of the evening just chillin' and joking around, mostly at my expense.

After such a rough afternoon, it's nice to just relax like this with my peeps.

Despite the drama that happened earlier, it feels like I'm really gonna enjoy this little career path I'm on…

And it all starts next week. My very first NASCAR race, here at Daytona.

The Shootout.


	3. The Bud Shootout: Beginnings

One week.

It's been one week since my first real experience in a Sprint Cup machine. An experience that ended quite badly, as it were. My ribs are still sore, and I'm quite sure the Autobacs symbol on my TV panel has now become a bull's-eye for one Mr. Cale Gale.

But I can't worry about that right now.

Right now, I need to be focusing on the first of tonight's races, The Budweiser Select.

Since I'm with a new team, I'm not in the main event tonight. But if I can manage to finish as the top Dodge in this little "heat race", I'll be in the Shootout, with the superstars. I'll be starting 6th, so I won't have to worry about being caught in that wolf-pack in the back.

We've brought brand new cars here for both races, instead of the test cars from last weekend. The one I'm running tonight hadn't even touched the track until about an hour ago for inspections. Speaking of which…

"How'd it go?" I ask my personal evil genius.

"Everything cleared. You're ready to roll." Chris says as he briefly looks up from his clipboard. Something bugs me about his reply, though.

"You ok, Sporktacular One?" I ask, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah… Just… I'm a bit nervous." He starts. "I mean, the test session was fine because there really wasn't anything on the line. This is your first race, though… I don't wanna make a bad call and ruin it for ya."

"Dude. If I thought you were gonna make a bad call, I wouldn't have hired you." I say, causing him to grin a little. "Now buck up. We've got a show to steal."

There's still about fifteen minutes before said show begins, but honestly, my nerves can't take just standing around out here. I decide to go ahead and get in the car. I throw on my headphones, and slowly start strapping in, just trying to calm myself down.

"What's with you, ya hermit?"

I look over to see K-Dub and Jackie standing beside my car.

"Kev, you know the sun is trying to kill me. I have to avoid it at all costs." I reply with a chuckle. "So, how many times have you guys argued over the day?"

"There's no argument. He already knows I'll be the one in the show." Jack replies arrogantly, while elbowing Kevin in the ribs.

"Psh. Please. I'm gonna smoke you like the product on your car." Kevin fires back with a grin just as big as Jack's.

"And while you guys are having your little fight, I'll be taking the checkers."

Damn I'm good.

"Well, who are you goin' with if you have the chance?"

How did I not see that one coming?

"I'll go with the first one I see, of course." I reply after a minute, trying to be as impartial as possible. God knows I'd like to have either one of 'em in the main event with me if I get there. The more friends I have, the better. The three of us exchange a handshake, and they go back to their cars. Sporky then comes over to the window, to take my music player, give me my Vitaminwater, and hook my window net.

"Ready to do this?" He asks.

"As ready as I'll ever be." I reply while slipping my helmet on.

"Ok then. Stay safe, and kick some ass." He says before leaving to get on the pit box.

Not too long now… They're doing the National Anthem now… Pretty badly, to be honest, but I digress. The fly-over was pretty awesome, though, seeing it from the car instead of the stands. With that, only one thing remains…

"Gentlemen! Start! Your! Engines!!!"

Gah… Thought they'd never get around to it. I flip my switches, turn on the radio, and adjust my gloves. Sporky comes over the radio to test it out, and make sure I have it on.

"Alrighty. Keep an eye on your temps for me. Don't do anything too crazy now."

"Me? Crazy? Naaaaaaaaaaah." I reply jokingly.

We all finally start to roll off of pit row. It all begins now… My only real worry is starting on the outside lane. The car just wasn't responding very well up top in testing. That was a major factor in that accident I caused…

But this is a new day, a new car, and even a new time of day.

We're all out of turn four, heading into the tri-oval. The pace car is off… Ready… Steady…

GO!

The green flag drops, and my first race is underway. I'm forced to stay up top going into the backstretch, as I wait for an opening on the bottom line. As soon as my spotter tells me I'm clear, I slide down in front of the 33 car. In a fit of irony, I end up behind my "nemesis" from testing, Cale Gale. Time to make up for my bonehead move last week. I give him a slight push, and he slides into third as we cross the line.

Going into the backstretch, I get a huge push from the 33, moving me into second. I try to move past the 3 of Dillon for the lead, but no dice right now. I'm willing the ride around for a few laps, though. So long as I'm the top Dodge.

"How's it feeling?" Chris asks.

"Not bad." I reply. "A little loose, but not bad."

The more I follow the 3, the more I get the feeling I can win this thing. I try to dive to the inside for the lead a couple times, but I never had the momentum. That is, until lap eight. I get a great push from the 02, which enables me to lead my very first lap of Sprint Cup competition. The lead doesn't last too long, though, as Dillon flies back by me on the backstretch.

"Fun while it lasted, at least." I say over the radio to Chris.

"Don't worry. You're looking great out there. Just a matter of time before you get it back."

And he was right.

A couple laps later, I'm getting a monstrous push from the 33, it looks like, as me and Dillon duel down the backstretch. Going into turn three, my spotter tells me I'm clear, and I immediately slide up in front of the 3, to make sure he doesn't try to get me out of four. Bowyer gives me another push, though, and it seals this lap up in my favor.

"Woo! Feelin' good!" I yell over the radio. But the happiness has to disappear quickly. Both Bowyer and Dillon want the lead, and I have to start playing defense. Bowyer tries to make his move on the backstretch, but I'm ready for him, and I'm able to block him. This, however, leaves the top line open for Dillon to charge back. He's able to get to my door, but no further than that. I end up sliding up the track, though, and I feel a tap on my side. I'm able to counter it, and keep the lead, but now there's a caution. I make it back to the line, and line up behind the pace car as I wait for news on the caution…

* * *

"So, we've had a huge multi-car crash coming out of turn four. The parties involved were Austin Dillon, Brad Coleman, Regan Smith, Jimmy Spencer, Scott Riggs, Mark Martin, David Ragan, Juan Pablo Montoya, Max Papis, Aric Almirola, Mike Wallace, Mike Garvey, and Sam Hornish. Everybody appears to be ok, despite some hard hits."

"Tough break for Dillon and Coleman, though. They had a great race going."

"Most definitely, but that's just how it goes in this sport. They'll pack it up and try again next week, though, at the 51st Daytona 500."

* * *

"Gah. This is boring." I say to Sporky.

"Just relax. They're gonna restart in a lap or so."

"How are Jack and Kevin?"

"They're in eighth and ninth. Running pretty good."

"And where's the closest Dodge?"

"Nineteenth. Barring something catastrophic happening to ya, we're pretty much locked in."

"Awesome. Thanks bro."

"Not a prob. Go get 'em, Venger."

The pace car finally pulls off, and we're back to green. Somehow, I managed to relax too much, and I get a slow restart, The 33 tries to get around me, but I'm able to regain enough speed to hold him off. He tries it again coming out of turn four, but I'm more than capable of holding him off this time. Seven to go at the line.

As the laps wind down, the other drivers have become far more aggressive. I notice the 21 behind me. As much as I'd love to see the Wood Brothers make the show, I realize I can't do that to Kev or Jackie, so I shake him loose, and hang him out to dry. Sorry Bill.

But then again, that might not've been the best idea. I look in my mirror to see an all too familiar logo: Rheem. Looks like Cale has caught up with me. Now, doubt has infiltrated my psyche. Is he gonna race me clean? Or is he gonna pay me back? I'm sure as hell hoping for the former as we come to the white flag lap.

"Last lap! Let's win this thing!"

Oh, Sporky. You do wonders for my confidence. I try to get as much of a lead as I can, without getting too far away. The last thing I need is for these guys to gang up and freight train me down the backstretch. As of right now, though, nobody's stepping up to make a challenge to my knowledge. I speed into turn three, trying to hold the bottom line as best as I can. The car is jumping out a little bit, but not enough to really mess me up.

The flashbulbs are popping. The fans are cheering. The checkers are waving. Is this really happening…? Please tell me that it is!

"Yes! It is! You've got it!"

"Sporky. Next time, warn me when I'm thinking out loud."

But I can't celebrate just yet, because here comes the 37. If he's been saving his revenge for this moment, then he truly is a cruel, miserable bastard. He's trying to get me on the outside, but he has no help. It's finally happening…!

* * *

"And at the line, it's the 19 year old rookie from Sophia, West Virginia! Brett Hatfield wins The Budweiser Select! Cale Gale is second, Marcos Ambrose is third, Jack Stroski is fourth, and rounding out the top five is NASCAR's Iron Man, Ricky Rudd."

"Great racing here tonight, and we're just warming up."

"That's right, Larry Mac. Now we get to see our top four do battle with the sport's superstars in our main event, the Budweiser Shootout. Driver introductions are coming up in just a few minutes, but let's send it down to Steve Byrnes, who's with our Bud Select winner."

* * *

Stunned.

I just can't believe it happened so soon. Granted, it isn't a points race, but it's still a win. A win in my first time out. If I wasn't already the talk of the town after last week, I am now. I throw on my hat, and finally climb out of the car, being met with a shower of Vitaminwater here in the garage.

"Heh, calm down guys. We've still got a main event to run."

They look at me like I had just told them that their mothers had AIDS.

"Eh, screw it. VICTORY BABY! WOOOOOOOOO!" I yell as I splash ''em with my own bottle. I dive into my team's arms, and almost punch Chris accidentally whilst pumping my fist in the air. He'd be glaring at me right now, I'd think, but he's just as stoked as I am. I then notice the reporter behind me, waiting on an interview.

"Brett, that was a masterful race you drove out there. What do you think changed in a week's time?"

"Just watched a lot of film, seeing where I made my mistakes last week. Talked to my peeps about what I needed to fix. Just a lot of studying."

"That said, what do you think about your chances in the Shootout later tonight?"

"I've got the best cars, the best crew, and the best team leader out here. There's no way I'm losing."

"Bold words from the young rookie. Back to you, fellas."

I take another swig of my Vitaminwater, and then go over to the pit box to look at some race tape with Sporky. We've got about 30 minutes before the race, and 20 before driver introductions. Some folks from Budweiser came over to give me the winner's hat, but due to my beliefs, I'm not wearing it. Just gonna keep it as a collector's item. They also ask me to choose my theme song for the intros. Too cool. I relay ''em my choice, and go back to looking over the video.

"Gah, looks like Jack and Kevin just barely made it through that wreck." I say to Sporky, who's showing me the big crash from lap 11. Apparently that little tap Dillon gave me propelled him into the wall and caused a huge mess. Overall, I still looked a little fidgety out there, but I guess that was to be expected. It looks like Jack made it into the Shootout too, which is good for me. I've got some help out there. Kinda sucks for K-Dub, though, as it looked like his car was just as good. Oh well.

Just a few minutes now before I get to do this all over again. Time to make sure they don't forget my name.

* * *

"And now introducing, the final entrant into the Bud Shootout, the winner of the Budweiser Select!"

The guitar chord hits…

"I HEAR VOICES IN MY HEAD! THEY COUNCIL ME, THEY UNDERSTAND, THEY TALK TO ME!"

"From Sophia, West Virginia! He is the driver of the #89 Super Autobacs Dodge Charger! Brett Hatfield!"

As I walk out onto the stage, my crew is waiting for me. I exchange handshakes with 'em all, then, I just stand in the middle of the stage and soak it all in. This is just way too cool. They even have the stagelights synced to the song. I hold up my Select trophy, and flames shoot out of the stage. WOW. This is better than what I dreamed it would be.

After my intro, and a few group pictures, it doesn't take the stagehands long to dismantle the stage, so we can go racing. It appears I'll be lining up 8th for the main event, with Jack lining up directly behind me in 10th. Awesome.

"Got my back out there?"

Speak of the devil.

"You know it, guy." I reply to Jack as I start to climb in my car. I'd say more to him, but I'm not in the mood for talking. I'm ready to race again.

"Let's show 'em what a couple of rookies with a dream can do."

We go through the opening ceremonies once again, and not long after that, the green is dropped. Right off the bat, though, I notice something is slightly… Off, I guess you could say. The car starts to squirm going into turn one, making me scrape the wall.

"Chris, we may have a problem." I say into my radio.

"We haven't even touched the car since the first race. Keep me posted, though. I'll figure out a fix before the pitstop."

I'm able to fall back in line at about 10th, and I start making my way back through the field. By lap three, I've moved into second place behind my hero, Kevin Harvick. The car is still kinda wonky, though. I can't quite put my finger on what's going on, but I know I don't like it.

But I can't think about that right now, as I'm getting a monster push from the 47. Into the lead I go again! And this time, it's past my hero. Way too cool. The car seems to feel a little better in the clean air, but still very wobbly.

"Any better?"

"Not much." I respond. I should be put more at ease by leading, but I'm not. The feeling gets worse as the laps go on.

"I'm losing it, Sporky."

"Just hang in there. We'll fix it on the pitstop."

Maybe that's slightly reassuring, but right now, I'm fearing I won't even make it to said pitstop. It gets to a point where I just can't hold the bottom anymore, and the 88 and 98 pass me for the lead. I fall back to fifth, and somehow, that's a lot better than I thought it'd be. I'm able to fight back for the lead with Jack and the 14, but I lose the car a bit, and scrape the turn one wall once again.

Not good.

Now the car is in worse shape than before. Not even a full lap later, I lose control and hit the 88 accidentally. He's able to recover, but I'm not. The 44 gets into me, and around we go.

"Oh shit. Not this again!" I yell as I try to brace for impact.

The initial impact wasn't so bad, and I was able to get the car refired at least. I figured I could limp it back around on the track apron, but as I turn the car down to hit the apron, the 90 of Menard smashes my entire front, which probably does the same to my insides as well.

"Brett. Say something."

"………..Something."

"Well, you're still sarcastic at least." Sporky says with a slight hint of relief in his voice.

The tow truck comes around to pick me up, and I go on that oh-so-lovely ambulance ride. They decide to keep me longer than I thought they would, thanks to my pre-existing rib injury from last week, meaning I couldn't see the end of the race. Apparently Logano won. Lucky bastard. Jack was fifth, which is good for him. Wish I coulda helped him out, though.

Sporky is looking over the shattered remains of my car, trying to see what went wrong. He's hypothesizing that it was a change in weather conditions, though, since none of the crew touched the car during the intermission.

They have me laid out here in the care center for further evaluation. Apparently they believe I might have a concussion, even though I don't remember blacking out. I still can't believe how this day ended up after starting so well with that win. I hope to god this isn't going to be a recurring theme.

But at least this race had no bearing on the points. That's next week.

And that's where I make myself into a legend.

The Daytona 500…


End file.
